Wargame: End of an Era
by A Tiny Little Oddling
Summary: 1991. With the Iron Curtain having fallen and much of Eastern Europe having overthrown their communist leaderships, the Soviet Union is ready to crumble, but a last ditch coup removes Gorbachev from power and re-institutes the communist party into the Soviet government. Turning their attention east, the USSR joins China and North Korea in looking to settle some old scores...


**Synopsis:** A dramatization of _Wargame: Red Dragon_ 's Second Korean War campaign.

The year is 1991. The Berlin Wall has fallen. The Warsaw Pact has been disbanded. In a bid to save the Soviet Union, high-ranking military and government officials launch a coup and arrest Gorbachev and Yeltsin. The event in our timeline known as the August Putsch succeeds, and the party hardliners are put back into power. The USSR, battered, weakened, and nearly broke, perseveres. Shifting its focus to Asia, the USSR seeks to enter an alliance with China and North Korea. China and North Korea's one demand: the reunification of Korea under a single ruler.

The war that will engulf the Korean peninsula is one that cannot be told through one set of eyes, or even from one side. Forces are marshaled, weapons dusted off, and the RNG gods laugh as Murphy's Law is in full effect.

 **Author's Note** : Before you get too far, let me say this: I have no actual military experience. Any and all knowledge I have about this subject is drawn from various books, internet readings, and of course, Wargame. I will try to keep this piece faithful to Wargame while keeping it grounded in reality (so I will be using Wargame weapon stats instead of real life stats, because real life stats invalidate a lot of Wargame tactics/strategies), but obviously I will mess up on protocols and other technical information and hopefully someone will call me out on it. This mostly started as an exercise in trying to write battles from the commander's perspective, so…hope I succeed?

That being said, if you've ever wondered why the scenario was called 'The Second Korean War' (it really shouldn't), why the USS Enterprise couldn't deploy more forces, where the rest of US Forces Korea went (and the entirety of the Pacific Fleet), why the French of all people were the first reinforcements after the Japanese, or why the South Koreans didn't even have enough troops to cover the DMZ, then this is your story. It goes without saying that aside from certain historical figures and happenings, all characters and events depicted in this story are fictional.

Also, first fic on FF. Here's to hoping.

* * *

 **Wargame: End of an Era**

 **August Putsch**

 **Part One**

Russia

19th of August, 1991

0645

The glittering lights of Moscow were dim today, noted Gavriil Vasilevsky, tapping his cigarette butt absentmindedly against the limousine's window. Never mind the road barricades, the armed soldiers setting up checkpoints in Red Square, or the line of tanks rumbling down the street, their infrared emitters glaring forward like a pair of demon eyes. History was in the making, and for all the obvious signs, Gavriil couldn't help but be drawn to the fact that the skyline seemed a little different today. Darker. Thicker. Hungrier.

He sighed. He was being melodramatic. Taking another drag of the cigarette he blew and took another glance out the window, this time at nearer sights, at the long lines of patch-covered people that wrapped around the city block, every last one of them holding an empty basket or grocery bag. A child clung to his mother's side, his cheeks sallow and bony, eyes bulging out of his head like some cheap science fiction alien. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments despite the tinted window pane, and Gavriil turned away, closing his eyes. He had to remember. He was doing this for them. They all were.

A jolt brought him out of his musings, and the driver tilted his head a little, letting the occupants in the car know that they had arrived. He hadn't even noticed that they'd stopped —the hallmark of a good driver. Peering over at the other seats in the KGB-supplied limo, Gavriil found five pairs of eyes staring back at him, all just as eager as he was to get this over with. In the back, an almost uninterested-looking person in a suit holding a suitcase also tentatively made eye contact; by far the most dangerous person in the car. Putting his cigarette out, Gavriil nodded, and the doors swung open.

The interior of the _Bely dom_ was a labyrinth of luxuriously decorated hallways, every surface of the rugs, tables, and even chairs emblazoned with the hammer and sickle as if it were some holy image. Above the décor, food, water, and the latest in consumer hardware bulged from every crevice. Walking through the tight corridors, a sudden flash of too-large brown eyes burrowing into his made Gavriil grimace. In front of a set of large double doors, two well-dressed forms emerged from the shadows, both gruff men with the blazing red and yellow emblem of the KGB stamped onto their forearms, the shield overlaid with a downwards facing sword a sharp reminder of their purpose. Gavriil instinctively touched the twin stars adorning his dress to make sure they were still there, and a quick glance around showed everyone else doing the same. The Gang of Eight hoped that having a representative of each branch of the armed forces along with the negotiator would assist in preventing any hasty decisions. If not…his hand brushed the butt of the pistol that hung off his side. He hadn't had to use one in a real situation—ever. Commanding a ship at sea rarely called for such. With everyone set, another pair of doors swung open and they strode in, the KGB wet-work agents following.

Ten seconds later a gunshot rang out, then another. Five at once. One more. Then, silence. Vice Admiral Gavriil Vasilevsky stood in the oval office, panting, his rarely used pistol smoking as he stared down a grey-haired man flanked by his two newly-dead bodyguards, his eyes full of defiance.

" _President Yeltsin. You are under arrest."_

* * *

 _The Berlin Wall has fallen. The Warsaw Pact has been dissolved. What should have been the end of the USSR…never came to pass. Eight influential Party, Army, and KGB members, alarmed at recent developments, stage a coup in Moscow, two armored divisions backed up by paratrooper support descending upon Moscow on August 19_ _th_ _, 1991 to forcibly occupy it. The 'Gang of Eight' arrests Gorbachev and Yeltsin before asserting control of the government and initiating a nationwide crackdown against any that opposed the coup. Upon its inception, The State Committee of the State of Emergency imposes martial law upon all Soviet territories. Any hint of rebellion is crushed under the treads of Soviet armor divisions._

 _That was eight months ago._

 _After the dust settles, the USSR brings itself back from the brink, but the damage has been done. With its buffer to the west gone and unable to contend with NATO's undiminished presence in Europe, the USSR shifts focus, looking eastward. Eager to bury the hatchet with China and North Korea, the USSR offers the two nations unprecedented access to its technology and technical expertise. Though China is placated with this, North Korea makes one additional request, one the Chinese find highly amusing and likewise echo. The Russian diplomats leave the meeting visibly disturbed and upon making their report to the Kremlin, spark a three-month debate within the highest echelons of the Russian leadership._

 _After fierce deliberation, the USSR agrees to the terms and conditions set forth by the two nations and begin to secretly funnel fleet and troop assets into Eastern Russia. Reports of Russian 'observers' in North Korea appear overnight, many of them teaching the North Koreans how to handle their 'new-generation' Demon-Eye tanks and other weapon systems. The response from the other side of the 38_ _th_ _Parallel is immediate: units are put on high alert, and preparations are made to evacuate Seoul and the other provinces along DMZ. When North Korea hosts a joint Korean-Soviet naval exercise and amasses troops and ships on the DMZ, the US officially responds by sending the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise and her task force in a display of force…_

* * *

USS Enterprise – CVN-65

Sea of Japan

April 15th, 1992

1528

The lazy afternoon sky blazed with streaks of orange and teal, the colors melting into each other to produce a hazy yellow that filtered down into the USS Enterprise's bridge. The glow illuminated the wrinkles on Fredrick Harper's face as he stared wistfully at the display in front of him.

"Admiral Harper, sir, is there a reason you've been staring at that for the past day and a half on the bridge instead of the CIC?"

Fredrick rolled his eyes and turned to the offending speaker. "I happen to like the sunlight. And it's _Rear_ Admiral; unless one of them up and dies, I don't think I'll be joining their illustrious boyband." He gestured towards the warbling dot on the screen. "Zach, this is possibly the last time anyone will ever witness an Alfa-class submarine in action, and you're bitching about it?"

Fredrick's XO simply stood straighter. "Sir, it's an enemy sub, one that is well within our engagement range."

Fredrick rolled his eyes. "No appreciation for the subtleties." He put on his best commanding voice. "Captain Zachery Douglas, as your commanding officer, I order you to sit down and prepare to be schooled." A resounding 'Oooh…' from forward drew a grin on Fredrick's face. "Thank you, Victor. Now Zach, this is the last Alfa-class sub in the world. Durable, nimble, expensive as all hell to maintain. The Russkies might have dug themselves out of that hole they were in a year ago, but they're still broke. In a few years, they'll have to retire most of their navy. Simply put, you're looking at a dead man walking."

Next to them the sonar specialist from Ops turned in his seat. "They must already be feeling the pinch if we can see her, sir. I can hear her propellers from way out here."

Fredrick gave a curt nod. "A lack of replacement parts does that to ships, especially submarines."

Zach raised an eyebrow, hands still folded behind his back. "Still sir, is it really wise to let it follow us like this?"

"It's out of weapons range, and if it comes even half that distance we can scare her off. Fastest sub in the sea can't outrun helicopters armed with depth charges and missiles. Also, the Soviets are conducting a naval exercise not too far from here, so it's natural for them to keep tabs on us. We're doing the same thing. So no, it's probably not wise, but appreciate history while it's happening."

Zach's shoulders slumped. "Very well sir. But wasn't this thing supposed to be based out in the North Atlantic?"

Before Fredrick could respond, Victor chimed in. "Well, so was the carrier _Admiral Kuznetsov_ , but as we know…"

As the three engaged in an animated discussion about the Soviets' recent deployments, drawing in more and more of the bridge crew, the aircraft carrier glided past a rocky outcrop where two metal sharks awaited her. As one, they engaged their engines, their noises disguised by the poorly maintained Alfa-class, allowing them to slip out of their hiding place undetected and angle their bows towards their prey. Plates in the front peeled back to reveal twin sets of predatory smiles, sixteen steel teeth pointed at the USS Enterprise.

* * *

USS Louisville – SSN-724

Under the Sea of Japan, near Vladivostok, home of the Soviet Pacific Fleet

April 15th, 1992

1530

"How many ships does that make it?"

"Four, make that four distinct Soviet formations sighted leaving port since this morning, including the _Admiral Kuznetsov_ ; looking at ninety-eight surface ships and at least four ultra-modern submarines."

"That…has to be the entire Soviet Pacific Fleet."

"Well, wouldn't be much of an exercise if not everyone participated, would it?"

"Should we call it in?"

Captain Jarred Anthony pushed the Type 18 periscope away and turned to Ship Control. "Last Soviet patrol we came across was three hours ago. We should be out of their sensor range." He turned to Ship Control, and the Chief of the Watch gave him a thumbs-up. Nodding, Jarred continued. "Update the markers and forward the data to CLIMAX. They'll want to see this."

Below Jarred the comms department rang out, "CLIMAX, this is call-sign November-Papa-Yankee-Sierra. Do you read?" Jarred and a number of officers raised their eyebrows when the ensign called out for a third time more urgently, "CLIMAX, we have an encrypted package to send over, awaiting return signal, over."

Jarred walked over to the comms station and saw the confused look on the corpsmen manning the station. "Comms, is there a problem?"

The radio operator's partner turned in his seat. "Sir, we are transmitting, but I haven't gotten a response."

"Ensign, it does take a while for the receiver to unencrypt the message. Give it a minute. And ensign, try not to send out too many transmissions either; we may be in the clear, but we're still in enemy waters. Last thing we need is someone triangulating our position."

Both crewmembers balked, and the radio operator proper gulped, "Sorry sir, won't happen again. But we're encountering interference."

Jarred scowled. "I thought we lost the Soviet patrols?"

Behind him, Ship Control looked flustered. "We are way out of range for any scramblers to still be affecting us—"

Comms swallowed. "Sir, we are broadcasting fine; however the Enterprise hasn't even picked up the package to decrypt it."

"Odd. Are we sure we are broadcasting in the right direction? We don't need some Japanese radio listeners to be picking up our static."

Navigation butted in, reading their position from the GPS. "Unless the satellites are malfunctioning, we are in the correct position and broadcasting in the right direction."

"Are you picking up anything in that general direction? Maybe the fleet diverted course for some reason."

Comms sighed. "Normally I would agree sir, but we're literally seeing a wall of static in the direction of the Enterprise."

Hearing the sonar station light up, Jarred grimaced and took up his previous position by the periscopes. "Unfortunately we're going to have to cut this short. Ships sighted moving South towards our position. Helmsmen, prepare to dive. We're going to have to go to give them the news the next time we surface."

The Chief of the Watch in Ship Control turned to Jarred. "Orders?"

"Lose the patrol, then do a wide circle, sixty-five kilometer radius, and try and locate CLIMAX."

Seeing the officer salute and bark orders at his three underlings, Jarred braced himself for the trip down, content with watching the general hubbub of the crew as they calmly yet hurriedly made sure everything was good to go for a dive. Despite himself, Jarred felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips; it was always a pleasure to watch the crew in action. They had performed flawlessly in the Gulf War, operating solo and clocking in 14,000 miles in their war patrol and even killing multiple targets with their cruise missiles; they knew how to handle themselves. Knowing their luck, the USS Enterprise and her escorts were commencing with their own little exercise that required radio silence and that command (once again) didn't bother to inform them about.

That mood was killed when Jarred glanced at the plotting tables in front of him and realized, _Hmm, that's a lot of ships for a patrol. And pretty far south, to boot..._

* * *

USS Enterprise

Sea of Japan

April 15th, 1992

1536

For the life of him, Fredrick couldn't understand what Zach was saying. His lips were moving, gyrating in oblong shapes that mirrored his suddenly wide eyes, but nothing was coming out. In fact, the whole bridge was silent except for that constant ringing: a shrill, persistent not-silence that accompanied numb hands and trembling extremities. Shaking. Why was he, the world, shaking? He looked back at Zach, trying to focus, but the movement of his lips proved elusive. He was speaking – no, screaming. Something was—

A pressure descended upon his shoulder and wrenched him away from the sight. Strobe lights flashed in front of him, transforming the world into a nauseating slideshow that alternated between bright nothing and a devastated landscape. In between flashes, he saw a console, its screen tinted scarlet, and Ops, slumped against the machine, head tilted at an unnatural angle. The blinding rays coalescing into a single beam that waved back and forth, back and forth—Fredrick slapped the hand carrying the flashlight away and was rewarded with someone pinning him against the wall.

Sensation rushing back into his body, Fredrick growled and tried to rise to his feet, only to be held in place by the man that materialized in front of him, his arm emblazoned with the sigil of the cross. As the tinnitus wore off, he caught the tail-end of the medic's statement.

"-need to hold still, sir!" The damn flashlight went back up—

Zach's voice wafted through the background, "Repeat! USS Enterprise to US Forces Korea! We have just suffered catastrophic damage and are in need of immediate assistance! I repeat—"

Fredrick narrowed his eyes at the medic, an icy wave washing over him and dispelling any discomfort. Or the numbness was getting worse. "Corpsman!" The young ensign froze, worry and terror etched into his features.

"S-sir! Need to check for a concussion—"

"Of course I have a concussion! But right now, you need to help me get up and to the command console!" Fredrick only had to give the death glare for another second or so before the medic stowed away his flashlight and reached out with his hand. Fredrick clasped it and yanked himself to his feet, the abrupt shift almost proving too much for his stomach. Before the medic could say anything Fredrick blanked his features and threw his arm around the medic's shoulder. "Command console. Now." Gulping, the ensign nodded and began guiding Fredrick towards Zach and the wide table in the center of the room.

Fredrick managed to gulp out, "Status report." In one swift motion, Zach put the receiver down and pivoted to face them.

"Sir! We've been hit. Several torpedoes struck us amidships and aft. We are dead in the water and are bleeding fuel and supplies. Comms are jammed, long-range messages are being intercepted. We can communicate between ships and a couple of our short-range patrols via point-to-point comms, but that's about it."

Fredrick frowned. "Status of the battlegroup?"

"USS Barry took a torpedo in her stern." He swallowed. "All hands lost."

 _One sub couldn't do that._ "Have the helicopters sweep—"

"Already done, sir. Kilo-Two reported a kill on the Alfa-class, but the rest of the ships are still trying to zero in on the other subs. Based on the ordinance thrown around we think they were Akula-classes, hiding in the bluffs—"

"Using the Alfa's noise as disguise. Clever bastards." Fredrick deflated and squeezed his eyes shut, whispering, "God damn it. They were hiding behind the Alfa, using it to muddy our scanners. If I had just said fuck it to the Alfa, we would have detected them and…worst I would have gotten was a slap on the wrist. Probably. Maybe. Shit. I'm only alive because I wanted to catch some goddamned sunlight…" Zach's face scrunched up, but he still gave Fredrick the second he needed to collect himself. Good man. It probably wasn't wise, but it was appreciated. Mustering his strength Fredrick growled, "I just witnessed the greatest calamity the US Navy has suffered in over forty damned years, and the first thing I do is complement the enemy. Shit." Straightening, he breathed. "Give me the rundown: what happened to my ship?"

"Whoever hit us knew where to hit and cripple us, sir. We were hit with some sort of specialized ammunition, sir. Once they pierced our hull, the explosion shot upwards into the internal bays. CIC and Engineering are gone. The reactor was hit, but it's stable, for now. What few engineers I could make contact with tell me they can stop it from melting down, but because of the damage all automated defenses are down. We're still having trouble contacting any of the other department leads. Assume the worst. Half the fliers in internal storage are buried under rubble. Even if they weren't, the flight elevator is wrecked and will take hours to fully repair. The flight deck itself is undamaged, but the force of the blast threw off most of the aircraft topside."

The corpsman medic by his side adjusted his weight, shifting Fredrick just enough to jostle his jelly insides and catch a breath of the suddenly putrid-smelling air. Fredrick breathed, "What's left?"

"The only aircraft that we can muster are ones already in the air, four Tomcats from the 154th Black Knights and three Super Hornets from the 211th Checkmates. We have several squadrons of helicopters we can call and resupply from other ships, but most of them are busy harrying the Akulas right now."

Fredrick pushed away from the medic, leaning heavily on the command console and shooing the medical corpsman away to tend to more wounded others. Right at that moment Victor, a gash running down the side of his head, spun in his chair clutching his headset. "Radar just picked up a wave of ships bearing down on us! Confirm, confirm forty-four contacts, mixed Soviet and North Korean ships, a hundred clicks out. The guys upstairs are telling me that they're detecting smaller signatures accompanying them, probably helicopters or other light aircraft. Unable to determine if they have their weapons at the ready or not."

Fredrick _tched_ , biting back a retort, and instead asked, "Hail them. Request that they turn back around and leave South Korean waters immediately." Victor nodded and went to his task, orders flying out to the different departments and ships.

A jittering technician muttered from his station, "They responded to the distress call way too fast…"

Victor turned back around. "They aren't responding to hails, sir!" He gave a pleading look. "Sir, given the circumstances, shouldn't we assume that they're hostile?"

Fredrick gritted his teeth. "You're telling me to start a war."

"Didn't they just fire the first shot?"

Fredrick's knuckles shone bleach white on the command console, but it was Zach who came to his rescue. "For all we know that was a rogue sub commander that managed to rope along two others to make us do just that!"

Fredrick's shoulders slumped as he looked down at Victor. "Tell me. Are the enemy vessels inside South Korean waters?"

A pause. "Yes sir. Deep."

Zach exploded, "And yet they haven't armed any of their missiles! No aircraft that would be essential in assaulting our positions have been sighted! Worse, command isn't responding. We don't know what's going on—"

Fredrick's hands relaxed and he gave a weary sigh, grabbing everyone's attention. "Zach, the last time we had that fleet's position it was an additional sixty kilometers north of where they are currently. In order for them to have traveled this far, they would have had to be sailing towards us a whole _hour_ before we were attacked. This was coordinated. Victor. Have they changed course?"

Victor tugged on his headset before giving a sluggish shake of his head. "No sir. Their course remains unchanged. In two minutes, they will enter our AO. They will enter engagement range with our furthest patrol approximately twenty mikes after that. Sir, without authorization from command, no one will blame you if—" Victor waited, seeming to have more to say, opening and then closing his mouth before settling on a grimace.

Fredrick looked down at his feet. "That's it then. We're at war with the Russians. Give the order, Lieutenant. All ships flying the Soviet and North Korean flags are to be treated as enemy combatants." Fredrick flattened his thumbs on the command console, listening to the words being said by his radio operator before looking up at the assembled bridge crew. "We have an hour and a half to prepare for Ivan. If there aren't Soviet jets now, there will be very soon. Get the Black Knights on the horn and tell them to reduce their patrol radius by sixty percent. Same goes for the Checkmates. Get six of the hunter-killer helicopters back here to rearm and prepare for anti-ship operations. Gather every patrol in range not hunting those Akulas and tell them to rally at the coordinates which follow…"

A quiet voice in the back of the room quavered, "God help us all…"

* * *

US Pacific Command

Camp H.M. Smith, Hawaii

April 15th, 1992

1555

" _Shoushou o-machi kudasai."_

Admiral Winfield didn't know a single phrase in Japanese, but after hearing that same phrase spoken the same monotonous tone five times over the phone even he was starting to figure out that he was being put on hold. Running a palm over his face, he was about to give up when there was a click and a voice rang over, spouting out a long and pedantic title that he hoped stood for Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force Chief of Staff's office. The rest just flew over him until he heard, _"o namae wa?_ "

He immediately blurted out, "Admiral Winfield, US Seventh Fleet. Is this the office for the JMSDF Chief of Staff?"

" _Eee…"_

Winfield's eyebrow twitched and he fully expected to hear the hold tone blare again until the phone reconnected and a new voice came through. _"Good afternoon, Admiral Winfield, how may we help you today?"_

Winfield pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back in his chair. "This is the office of Admiral Sugimoto?"

" _Hai. You are speaking to him."_

"Admiral Sugimoto, I have a…favor to ask of you. It concerns the USS Enterprise and her task force which was sent to monitor the joint Soviet-North Korean naval exercise. "

There was a pause. _"I do not like the direction this is going…"_

"To the best of our knowledge nothing bad has happened. However, we have lost contact with the task force, and have been unable to raise the USS Enterprise or any of her escorts." Feeling the admiral on the other side tense, Winfield sighed. "Our spy satellites can do the job, but it'll take several hours for my request for satellite time to be processed, much less approved. US Forces Korea does not have the tools for an in-depth search of the East Sea. The closest US fleet that can reach them is several days away. The South Koreans have begun to investigate, but ran into a similar situation we're in with the patrol they sent. Your navy is the closest to the USS Enterprise's last known location. We need to make sure nothing is wrong."

" _I find it difficult to believe that you do not have anything in the area capable of resolving this issue."_

Normally he would be right. But the Louisville had likewise fallen mysteriously silent. "Admiral Sugimoto, the US Pacific Fleet is stretched thin across the entire ocean, doing the job they need to. To pull them from their assignment now would be a PR nightmare. We had a carrier squadron that was meant to reinforce the USS Enterprise's task force a week from—"

" _An additional carrier squadron? Admiral. As allies and peers of the same craft, I will afford you the same respect as I do any equal. However, that respect is difficult to maintain if you insist on keeping your allies in the dark!"_

Winfield bit back a sigh. "Admiral, I just told you the situation. The recent maneuvers by the North Koreans have made Washington worried, and in response, they dispatched the USS Belleau Wood and ten thousand marines to reinforce the Republic of Korea in case Ivan or Kim got ideas. However, a week before they are scheduled to arrive, this happens. It's…worrying."

" _I agree. I will send the Second Escort Flotilla to investigate, have the Third on standby, and order the Fourth to cast off immediately."_

Winfield's eyes widened. "Admiral, that is three-fourths of the entire Maritime Self-Defense Force."

" _I will not make any assumptions, Admiral Winfield. What happens to the Korean peninsula will affect my people far more gravely than it will yours."_ After a brief moment, Sugimoto said, " _I sincerely hope that this is one big misunderstanding, Admiral."_

"So do I, Admiral Sugimoto. So do I. A pleasure dealing business with you."

" _A pleasure, Admiral Winfield. Shitsurei shimasu."_

Hearing the good admiral hang up, Winfield put the phone down and leaned forward at his desk, failing to stifle a growl. That conversation didn't reassure him in the slightest.

* * *

299th Soviet Air Fighter Squadron

Sea of Japan

April 15th, 1992

1700

" _Irkutsk One to Admiral Kuznetsov, friendly fleet sighted. Thirty-five kilometers from the target."_ The radio operator called to the pilot out in front of the dual-cockpit, but shook his head when he saw his partner engrossed by the afternoon sun. It was a beautiful day today. The leader of the 299th, snuggled in his pilot's seat, peered down at the mass of Soviet and Korean ships below him going full speed towards the Americans, destroyers, frigates, corvettes, and gunboats arranged like so many silver knives poised to stab into the enemy's heart. Around him, his three wingmen formed a protective envelope covering the 321st Naval Strike Squadron, a single bulbous missile protruding from the underbelly of each of their crafts. Even a glancing shot from the oversized Moskit was capable of sinking an enemy capital ship. He was a firm believer that there was no such thing as overkill, but still…the amount of firepower brought to bear was nothing less than awesome. It was a shame that his squadron was only here to escort the fleet and not participate in the actual fighting itself. But it would be all over soon enough. The enemy's aircraft carrier was crippled, its escorts wounded, patrols scattered, all courtesy of the roaming Akulas. The few craft they had in the air shouldn't—his eyes narrowed.

Behind him, his partner buzzed, _"Admiral Kuznetsov, we have breached the enemy's airspace. Four American F-14s angling to intercept, range thirty kilometers, coming straight at us. Permission to engage."_

The affirmative tone blared in response, and the Russian pilots grinned, flicking the safeties off their guns and gunning their engines, blasting past the fleet beneath them. They were going to be a part of the action after all. The American F-14 Tomcats were designed around the same time as the Mig-31 Foxhound he was flying, performing the same role, carrying similar missiles, being a two-seater…in so many ways a perfect mirror match. The Su-27Ks of the 321st dipped down and let the 299th overtake them, their curved fronts reminding him of sea birds going down to catch some fish. The pilot ordered the 299th to attack formations, and saw the F-14s do the same. He could feel his partner's thumb hovering over the firing stud, waiting for the guidance systems to lock, and gripped the center stick that much tighter, ready to turn at a moment's notice. That was one area in which the F-14s beat his MiGs: they were much more agile. No matter, their missiles were the weapons that were going to determine the outcome of this fight, not their guns.

Cresting over a chain of sharp ridges jutting out of the ocean, he was assaulted by the warning bells of two dozen radar acquisitions and choked as he saw what had to be the entire American navy arrayed below him, missiles and cannon rounds already streaking towards him. The pilots barely managed to scream out a synchronized, if indignant, _"Seriously?!"_ before the wave of death slammed into them and half the 299th and 321st were swatted out of the sky.

* * *

USS Enterprise

Sea of Japan

April 15th, 1992

1701

" _Good hits, Arleigh Burke, good hits."_

" _Counting six bandits splashed!"_

Watching the grainy footage of the Soviet fighter jets plummeting from the sky sent a shiver of relief down Fredrick's spine. That was a gamble, using the Tomcats as bait and hoping the islands would shield the bulk of the fleet from being detected by the jets, but one that had paid off handsomely. Even though two of the Foxhounds had gotten away, all of the ship-killing Su-27Ks were down, and right now that was all he cared about. Having chased the Akulas far to the east, away from any of their patrols, they had been able to rally their ships together in order to haul ass to these islands, linking up with a group of South Korean patrol boats along the way. Under different circumstances, the look on the Korean captain's face when his ships were essentially pressed into battle would have been priceless, but as it stood it only served to reinforce how desperate their situation was.

" _Load another rack of missiles. We're just getting started…"_

Even so. This was not how a battle should go. If Fredrick had bothered to follow protocol, he would be in the CIC directing the battle, surrounded by dozens of projectors displaying real-time information instead of playing telephone on the bridge. Then again, if he followed protocol, he would be dead, and there wouldn't even be a battle. Fredrick shook his head. He just couldn't think of any point in naval history where a fleet this badly outnumbered had not been absolutely pulped; even with the South Koreans they were still outnumbered four to one. Their only advantage was the location they had chosen for the battle, thankfully right in the way of the approaching enemy ships. They would have to make the most of it if they wanted to survive. Twin parallel reefs jutted out of the ocean, narrow strips of land with jagged cliffs tall enough to mask the largest of his ships and long enough to form a wall, albeit broken a bit in the middle. A kilometer behind that was another identical formation, for all intents and purposes forming a canyon or corridor that could only be approached from the sides. Perhaps the center too, Fredrick conceded. He could see a desperate enough commander shove a few patrol boats through the shallow waters that ran between the land masses, but even then they ran the risk of getting beached. At the very least, he would have to try and keep his ships from exposing themselves through that hole and eating a missile.

To that effect, Fredrick keyed the radio and pressed a few keys. "All ships, we are designating the areas between the rock formations Charlie and Delta and are uploading the positions to your nav computers. All ships are to stay within those zones to avoid enemy missile fire." A series of terse radio acknowledgements rang through the bridge.

The rock formation the fleet was positioned behind was a natural fortress, concealing the fleet and limiting the enemy's axis of advance, though the usefulness of the former was expended when they had sprung their trap. Six jet fighters exploding in mid-air were a bit hard to miss. Still, that only meant the enemy knew they were in the general area, and not the exact positions of all his ships. A loud humming on the sensors told him the enemy sought to rectify that. As a wave of Soviet recon choppers surged forth and spread out like a fan, active scanners flaring and heralding the arrival of the main fleet, Fredrick brought his hands together and squeezed. The Ka-27 dual-rotor helicopters were big, ungainly things that came equipped with their own radar and were the eyes and ears of most fleets, usually only armed with a single torpedo, which was not an insignificant amount of firepower if they massed for a single attack, Fredrick mused.

This, anti-climatically, was probably the most important part of the upcoming battle. The intelligence those choppers gathered would directly influence how the Soviets and North Koreans carried out their attack, and if Fredrick could have a hand in changing those plans, that would leave him in a stronger position to dictate the battle's outcome. Blinking, Fredrick saw an ensign looking at him. Peering down, he saw his hand freely tapping against his leg and Fredrick quickly brought it back up to where he could see it and scowled at the tactical display, a mess of blue dots indicating the position and status of his ships. A pair of Ka-27s rounded the corner of the island, only to come face-to-face with a South Korean patrol boat, its guns out and CIWS rotary trained directly on them. It probably was too much to expect them to fall for the same trick twice and for the helicopters to experience the same fate as their higher-flying cousins. But that's why Fredrick cheated, dispersing his fleet about the archipelago like living landmines and commanding them to maintain radio silence until the moment was right.

" _Jigeum!"_

A thousand burning tracer rounds spewed forth from the CIWS like the breath of an angry dragon, 20mm bullets splashing over the hulls of the Ka-27s and riddling them with dozens of pockmarks. Panicking, the helicopters released their torpedoes, only for the CIWS to shred one as it left the launch rail, prematurely detonating it and the ship it was attached to. The other torpedo acquired a lock, igniting its boosters and streaking towards the patrol boat, only for the targeting system to sputter as the ship it was chasing disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Seconds later, the South Korean patrol boat sailed out of the artificial fog, untouched. The South Korean Cham-su-ri was in its element, a long, almost front-heavy looking corvette festooned with machineguns and advanced defensive systems that made it perfect for guarding larger fleets and swatting missiles and anyone foolish enough to get close out of the skies.

The surviving Ka-27 spun around in erratic circles, oil leaking from various orifices, only to recover at the last second and sputter away out of the Cham-su-ri's reach. All eyes watched the warbling craft as it limped its way to a nearby isle, wondering if it would make it. The answer came in the form of two US Skyhawk helicopters rising up from behind the isle and swung around to present their opened passenger compartment, the glint of the M60 machineguns reflecting off the visors of the Ka-27 pilots. The pregnant moment between the three craft ended when both Skyhawk machineguns erupted simultaneously, twin lines of tracers stitching their way across the Ka-27's cockpit, shattering the glass and painting the inside crimson.

A sudden tightness seized Fredrick's jaws. His mind screamed ' _NOW,'_ sensingthe kick-off moment. The other Ka-27s, enraged at the loss of two of their own, kicked their engines into overdrive, determined to complete their mission and hunt down the ones that dared touch their family. One by one, they flushed out the rest of the hiding craft, often at their own peril. Skyhawks leapt from their hiding holes and the dance began, two swarms of bees buzzing around each other in wide rings, forming a halo around the main island, crew members leaning out of their vehicles and trading small-arms fire with each other in a dizzying dance of death. Unfortunately, the Ka-27s were not alone, because not a moment later a blaring alarm tore Fredrick's gaze from the helicopters' movements as a dozen North Korean missile boats screamed their way onto the battlefield.

Watching the squat things zoom around the archipelago, Fredrick bit his lip. Three of them cornered a lone Cham-su-ri, circling it and letting off belt after belt of ammunition before turning inward and unleashing a flurry of missiles. Smoke and CIWS fire went out, but to no avail; four missiles struck the Cham-su-ri, sending it up in a blaze, making Fredrick wince. The Soviet-supplied Komar missile boats were nasty customers in a fight, zipping around carrying two direct-fire missiles that, while short-range and inaccurate, would ruin your day if they hit.

An aide strode up to Fredrick, handing him a stack of papers. "Sir, we have confirmation on the enemy fleet formation."

Fredrick raised his eyebrows. "Paper intelligence? What is this, the CIA?" Still, Fredrick gave a quiet thanks to the aide, taking the stack and peering through the papers, thankfully very laconic and laden with pictures. Fredrick tapped the command console. "Orders to the fleet: all ships assigned to anti-intelligence operations are to fall back to the main fleet and fall into formation. All ROKN vessels are to take up positions on the outskirts of the fleet. The enemy will be arriving with corvettes and light frigates soon, and we need you to deflect their missiles as well as act as ECM batteries. Capital ships, cluster up in groups to ensure maximum CIWS coverage. The enemy will attempt a pincer movement, and while supporting aircraft will attempt to harry those ships, they will not be able to stop them completely. CLIMAX, out." Fredrick sighed; it felt wrong to force his own men into a corner like that, but it was all part of the plan.

As his orders were carried out, Fredrick watched as one Cham-su-ri rumbled out of its hiding hole, two Komars hot on its heels. The Komars closed range, missiles sitting hungrily in their racks when two torpedoes slammed into the rearmost Komar, splattering its guts over the second Komar, which, blinded, stumbled into range of the main fleet's guns and emerged in fist-sized chunks. The Cham-su-ri crew looked up at the Skyhawk pilots who saved them and managed to wave before the Skyhawk disappeared into ribbons of molten metal.

Fredrick cursed. The enemy corvettes were already here. In hindsight, Fredrick realized that while putting his ships into cover prevented the enemy from observing him, it also went the other way and allowed them to sneak up on him. The twelve Soviet Tarantul-IIIs that composed the bulk of the enemy fleet were characterized by the large tower that protruded out from the center of the ship and the four comically oversized missile pods that shared either side of the command center. Combined with the Tarantuls' 76mm front-mounted turret, the rear CIWS defensive rotary gun, and twin short-range surface-to-air-missile launchers, the Tarantul was a true jack-of-all-trades, excelling at killing capital ships and zapping missiles, helicopters, and low-flying aircraft out of the sky. The Tarantuls made themselves known with a blistering storm of SAMs, destroying half the Skyhawks before their pilots even knew what was happening. The Tarantuls glided past the tumbling wreckages of their victims, reinforcing the Komars and renewing their attack, another Cham-su-ri falling to their combined missile barrages. Before Fredrick could even react, the lithe North Korean Najin-class light frigates emerged from behind the safety of the Tarantuls, the dull boom of their guns adding to the symphony of destruction and announcing their presence. Najins didn't come with SAMs and shared the same missile load-out as their smaller Komar brethren, relying mainly on their powder guns to pound their enemy into submission, but once they got into range, that was going to hurt. The mob of Komars, Tarantuls, and Najins split off into two fleets, each converging on the corridor's two entrances while the remaining missile boats continued to wreak general havoc.

"All Skyhawks, fall back from the battle. Expend your torpedoes and fall back." Fredrick watched as one helicopter attempted to carry out his orders, only for a one-two punch from a Tarantul to send it careening into the side of the mountain before it could fire its torpedoes. The Skyhawks were combat-ineffective. Shaking his head, Fredrick keyed in on the fleet's comm. "Captain Kidd, the main enemy fleet is about to hit you hard, twelve corvettes and eight frigates, ETA one minute. Looks like the frigates are taking the lead, the corvettes hanging back to use their missiles. Can you hold, over?"

The destroyer captain on the other end curtly replied, _"Yes sir. Weapons hot and we have the corridor entrances pre-sighted. We'll lose some, but as long as—"_ He paused. " _We'll hold, over."_

"Good man, Captain. You're not going to be entirely alone. A flight of Super Hornets armed with Anti-Ship-Missiles, call-sign Checkmates, will be running support for you. Rear Admiral Harper, out." Setting the phone down, Fredrick sighed. His one destroyer, eight frigates, and six Cham-su-ris against twenty-odd enemy ships…the numbers weren't in his favor.

Just then the first Najin crossed the peripheries and with a resounding, _"Open fire!"_ on the comms the joint US/ROK fleet lashed out. The first two Najins that flowed into their lines of fire presented their broadsides to the fleet, intending to use their guns. Hyper-accurate cannon fire met them, gory holes erupting along their sides. Still they pushed on, returning fire and allowing the next wave of Najins to take their position plugging the corridor. The Tarantuls took up position behind the Najins, using the cover offered by the frigates as time to arm their missiles. As one, both sides let loose with everything they had, missiles flying back and forth, exhaust trails criss-crossing each other, rivers of defensive fire sawing missiles in half and flinging them off course. Whatever happened next was out of Fredrick's hands. It had inevitably been going to turn into a slugging match of attrition; everything leading up to this point had essentially been Fredrick vainly trying to even the odds and hope that would be enough. That thought was of little comfort to Fredrick as he watched his men die.

Two brave Cham-su-ri crews, fully embracing their role as fleet defenders, dumped their full countermeasure suite in one go, swamping the fleet with smoke and flares, all the while blasting on all frequencies with their radio — achieving the exact opposite of what their countermeasures were designed to do. Burning like flares on the enemy sensors, the Cham-su-ri's attracted all the Soviet missiles and four seconds later two dozen missiles immolated both vessels. Fredrick doubted that even a microscope could find any remains of either of those two vessels. He blinked. On the other side, a US Harpoon missile skewered a Najin, cooking off the ammunition loaded into the center of the ship and blowing it sky-high, cracking the hull in half and sending slivers of the hundred-meter-long vessel flying in all directions like a massive frag grenade, claiming a Komar that was hiding underneath it. Two more Najins splintered under the barrage, a quartet of missiles flying past the Najin blockade and striking a group of tightly packed Tarantuls. One Tarantul bit the dust, its death throes showering the nearby vessels with its remains, stunning them.

As the second wave of missiles rippled out from both sides, Fredrick saw three new dots materialize on the screen and cried out, "Checkmates, uploading targeting data to your nav computers. Take the pressure off our boys!"

Six missiles lanced out from the three jets, right into the unprotected flank of the dazed Tarantuls, whose short-range missiles couldn't target the Super Hornets. _"And that's two more for Davy Jones!"_ The F/A-18 pilots gave a collective whoop before peeling away, running back to the Enterprise to rearm.

" _Whoa, watch it Checkmates! Bogeys inbound!"_ Fredrick's head snapped up and he saw the two surviving MiGs from before diving down trying to snipe the jets.

" _Not on my watch. Black Knights! Box one!"_ The MiG-31s broke off their attack just as a swarm of missiles flew past them and the Black Knights engaged. Four Tomcats squared off against the two Foxhounds, launching another salvo of missiles. Three of the Tomcat missiles missed, with one detonating just off the wing of one of the MiGs, damaging it. Both of the Foxhounds' missiles magically connected with Black Knight-Three, vaporizing his entire craft.

" _Vince! Vince! We lost Knight-Three!"_

As if the universe conspired against Fredrick, another klaxon sounded and his blood chilled as the words, _"Missile inbound!"_ screeched over the comms. Eyeing the long-range readings, Fredrick gawked. The enemy destroyers had arrived. Parked several kilometers from the natural formation, the four Soviet Sovremenny destroyers were content with lobbing cruise missile after cruise missile over the cliffs. The overworked CIWS rotary guns on every ship shifted upward, the Aegis system coordinating the fleet's defensive fire and keeping the missiles from reaching their targets, for now. Even tens of kilometers away Fredrick could see the streams of machinegun fire that swept across the skies, each puff another missile destroyed, but Fredrick knew that it was only a matter of time before one of those missiles hit. Said moment arrived sooner than expected as Fredrick watched a missile emerge from the hailstorm of flak and strike a frigate, gouts of flame ripping through her interior and claiming the lives of almost two hundred. Fredrick bitterly thought, ' _well, that's not fair…'_

* * *

US Pacific Command

Camp H.M. Smith, Hawaii

April 15th, 1992

1725

" _Identifiez-vous_ _."_ Admiral Winfield really needed to start learning other languages. Or hire an intern who could handle that for him, damn the security clearance. He had picked up some French back in the academy, but he was regretting letting that skill languish. _"Identifiez-vous?"_ Winfield was probably imagining things, but he swore that he heard a shred of emotion in that voice recording — He stiffened. Unless there was an actual person on the other end of the line.

" _Identifiez—"_

"Admiral Winfield, US Seventh Fleet! If this is the FS Foch, I need to speak to Admiral d'Escrienne immediately." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We have a…situation."

" _Nous sommes désolés, Amiral Winfield, mais nous sommes indisposées à ce moment—_ _"_

Winfield heard pair of boots stride across the room at that point, followed by a terse exchange. The phone exchanged hands soon after, far too slowly for Winfield's liking, and a clear, level voice rang through a moment later. " _Bonjour._ _Comment pouvons-nous vous—_ _"_ Hearing Winfield groan, the voice on the other end gave a chuckle. _"Forgetting the fundamentals, Charles? I see you haven't changed one bit."_

Winfield stifled a grin. "Chevell. It has been a while."

" _Indeed. But we have come a long way, no? From the dashing foreign exchange student and his intrepid sidekick to proud Amirals of our respective nations."_ Snorting, Winfield could practically see Chevell's shit-eating grin form in front of him. Accuse him of not changing…the man on the other end gave a bark of laughter. _"It does good to have some mirth before getting to the unpleasantries."_ d'Escrienne's voice hardened. _"How serious?"_

Winfield grimaced. "Very. We've lost contact with the USS Enterprise and her task force off the coast of South Korea at 1530 hours. The ROKN and JMSDF sent ships to investigate, but the South Koreans haven't gotten back to me and the Japanese are still two hours out."

" _The fact that the Koreans are not making a fuss about the Japanese moving in is telling, no?"_

"And the fact that every ship in the Enterprise's fleet is unresponsive."

" _So, jamming. The list of candidates capable of doing that is already slim. And with the Russian Eastern Fleet doing their 'naval exercise' in the East Sea…"_

"They have the tools. The numbers. The motivation. So yes, it is a possibility. Hence why I've raised the alert level across the Pacific and why Washington is breathing down my neck. And since we're not even sure if this is a localized event, if this is the start of something bigger, or if anything is happening at all—"

"— _you cannot move your ships, and need mine. And so the US begins to see the downsides of managing an empire…"_ Before Winfield could fully register that comment, Chevell plowed on, _"But speaking of our illustrious overlords, how do they see this communiqué? It is, after all, a peu bit out of regulation."_

"They don't know about it yet. And going through the proper channels will only raise more eyebrows and waste valuable time. Hence this."

Chevell's chuckle rang through the line. _"Never change, friend. My fleet is conducting wargames with the British near Hong Kong; need to flex our muscles every now and then to make sure the Chinese don't make a second pass at the city. I think I can convince the British commander to let go of one of his carriers and a few escorting ships; if we start recalling our sailors and marines now we can arrive in the East China Sea within four days."_

"That's three days faster than the _Belleau Wood_ and her escorts. We just need people in position in case things…"

" _Sure. I will send out the call now."_

Winfield breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Chevell. I know this is improper, and probably risking both of our careers—"

" _Merde! If social standings and a nation's self-image are what keep us from saving people, then what is the point? When fighting to save lives, Charles, never relent. A certain intrepid schoolboy beat that lesson into my head..."_

A ghost of a smile snaked its way onto Winfield's face as he sat there, thinking. "Well then. We both have our jobs cut out for us. Let's get to it."

" _Agreed."_ Hearing Admiral d'Escrienne bark out orders rapid fire on the other end, Winfield made to put the phone down when Chevell asked, _"Curious, Amiral, what ships accompany the Belleau Wood?"_

Frowning, Winfield replied, "She's an amphibious assault ship, not a full carrier. Just a few frigates and supply boats meant to shore up South Korea's defenses."

" _Even so, isn't that a little understrength for a light carrier group?"_

"Well, the original plan was for the _Enterprise_ and the _Belleau Wood_ to go to Korea together, to dissuade Kim from trying anything. However, when the Soviets and North Koreans got serious about their naval exercise, we rushed the _Enterprise_ to the region, even though the _Belleau Wood_ and a quarter of the battle group wouldn't be ready for another week. The _Enterprise_ had all the heavy air and naval assets while the _Belleau Wood_ brought the marines; we thought it was an acceptable compromise that would keep the Soviets and North Koreans at bay while keeping the relative strength of the battle group intact. If the Russians move in with force, however…even if you were to link up with the _Belleau Wood_ I'm afraid she can't give you much support." D'Escrienne huffed, giving a final remark before hanging up. Letting the phone fall into the receiver, Winfield squeezed his eyes shut, Chevell's final words echoing through his head. _"Charles, as admirable as it is, do not let the weight of your men's lives blind you to the larger picture. This battle is not about the_ USS Enterprise _or any single carrier battle group. If the Russians wanted to sink American ships they would do so in the Atlantic where their main fleet is. They do not have the numbers to take control of the entire Pacific. But one sea? By attacking the_ Enterprise _and wresting control of the East Sea from you they prevent your reinforcements from reaching the area, which by your own admission, is only the_ Belleau Wood _and her marines. The Russians have little to gain from starting a shooting war to stop a few troop transports which cannot threaten its fleet. The same cannot be said of the North Koreans. In any potential invasion of South Korea, stopping even a single troop ship like the Belleau Wood means everything."_

* * *

USS Enterprise

Sea of Japan

April 15th, 1992

1732

" _This is for Vince, motherfucker!"_ Black Knight-Two jammed his thumb down on the firing stud, a hundred rounds from his nose gun lancing out and clipping the wings of the Foxhound in front of him. The Foxhound, sturdy bastard, simply rolled with the hit and gunned its afterburners, angling down into the canyon below. Cursing, Black Knight-Two shoved the stick forward, following the Foxhound into the valley of death below. Instinctively, the Tomcat pilot knew the Foxhound pilot had done the smart thing. Out of missiles, both sides had been forced to close with each other, using increasingly desperate tactics to overpower their opponents. This was one of them. The Tomcat was more agile. The Foxhound faster. If it could clear the canyon, flooded by water, debris, and almost-guaranteed death from a dozen different sources in the form of stray missiles, cannon rounds, and machinegun fire, then it could buy itself enough time to swing around and gain the upper hand. Unless he followed.

Skimming the corridor's rocky wall, Black Knight-Two squinted, leading the reticule past the target—a thumb jam later and the Tomcat pilot smirked as a line of holes blossomed on the fuselage of the Foxhound and opened it up like a tin-can. Now a blazing comet, the Foxhound's death throes carried it up and out of the canyon before crashing down into the blackened waters below. As the triumphant Tomcat pulled up, skimming over the bridge of the USS Arleigh Burke and sending several corpsmen doing repairs overboard, Captain Kidd's panicked voice blared, _"Clear the firing lane, clear the firing lane—"_ The cavernous maw of the Destroyer's main gun belched out another round, thunder echoing in the long canyon, lightning lashing out and splintering the hull of another North Korean vessel. The captain onboard the doomed ship could be heard screaming into the ship's speakers when the center of the ship detonated, a plume of flame ballooning outward and flinging tiny stick figures this way and that. One tiny candlestick wearing a sailor's vest slapped into the oil-stained water below, only to get tossed aside as two smaller boats zoomed around the carcass of the sinking ship, the profanity-laden shrieking match between the two Korean vessels muted by the buzz of their guns as both boats dueled in the rapidly forming maze of wrecks and debris.

Fredrick could only watch all of this out of the corner of his eye. Right now, the _Pegasus_ and her lance of missile boats couldn't get here quick enough. "Captain, status report?"

" _ETA to strike position two mikes. Be advised, two ROKN patrol vessels are accompanying us. They got separated from their main group and are willing to provide support. Should I direct them towards the main battle, over?"_

Fredrick squinted, his eyes darting over to the mess that was Charlie and Delta. The projector was lousy with dotted lines showing the paths of ships as they maneuvered out of and into fire, spitting torrents of shells at each other. The South Koreans were down to two ships. All ships were engaged, heavily outnumbered, and in need of reinforcements—

"Negative, Captain. Your ships have no defenses against enemy missile fire and the ROKN Cham-su-ris make up for that deficiency. Tell the ROKN vessels to maintain their formation and your crews to slow to their speed. Once you reach the target I want you to link up with a flight of fast-movers armed with ASMs, call-sign Checkmates, and coordinate your attack run."

" _Copy that, CLIMAX. That's gonna add a few seconds to the ETA."_

Below Fredrick on the flight deck the Checkmates' silver fins fanned out, the pilots doing final checks on their systems and maintenance crews scurrying away as the F/A-18 Super Hornets prepped for launch. Normally it would take half an hour at least to refuel and rearm jets, but cutting some corners the _Enterprise's_ crew had managed to get all three ready in twenty. Fredrick barked into the mike over the rising roar of the Super Hornet's engines, "Once you dump your missiles, key into your secondary battle frequencies for instructions on where to rearm and refuel."

" _Acknowledged, CLIMAX. Pegasus out."_

Seeing the line of Pegasus hydrofoil craft slice through the water on the screen, a pair of patrol boats intermixed between them and satisfied at their progress, Fredrick turned his attention to the enemy fleet. Despite the fact that a literal ring of wreckage surrounded the beleaguered US/ROKN fleet, the North Koreans and Russians were still trying to batter their way into the canyon, throwing everything they had into the attack. That left their flanks wide open, and Fredrick hoped to exploit that with Captain Joel and his attack on the right side, hopefully decimating one attacking force and allowing the ships trapped inside to focus on the other, or at least let them evacuate if the situation was untenable. Of course, this wasn't a training simulation back at the academy where the enemy had one glaring weakness that could be abused. Even now the enemy destroyers were moving forward to screen their brothers' backs to counter Fredrick's move. Yet their rebuttal to Fredrick's plan was almost an afterthought: those destroyers would only be able to get off a missile or two at the Pegasus by the time Fredrick's attack boats reached their destination, unloaded all of theirs, and were already on the way back, even with their reduced speed. Even more mysterious was the fact that none of the attacking ships, even the ones in the rear, were turning around the face the new threat. It was as though they didn't care, or didn't know what was com—

" _Bogey in the air! It's coming for us!"_

Fredrick's gaze lasered in on the distress call, showing the last wounded Mig-31M dipping down and making a pass at Joel's ships. As Fredrick beheld the boxy Foxhound desperately strafe the oncoming attack boats with its nose gun, poorly-aimed tracers stitching the air behind it as it flew away, his eyes flicking between the destroyers moving flank speed and the fleeing fighter, the realization crystalized in his mind: the North Korean fleet had no idea they were going to get hit in the back. Unable to contain his smile, Fredrick muttered, "Fortune favors the bold," much to the confusion of the crew. Fredrick's grin only grew wider as he rattled off new orders. " _Pegasus_ , new orders: you are to hit the Norks in their flank and keep pushing. Do not stop to reload. Checkmates! New priority target is that Foxhound. Take him out."

" _Gladly!"_ With a triplet of whoops, the Checkmates fell onto the Mig-31M with vengeful fury, medium-range missiles tearing out of their launch rails and gutting the retreating interceptor. Over the comm, Checkmate-One chuckled, _"Pegasus, we got your back. Give us a second to loop back around, over."_

A cool voice responded, _"Pegasus, copy all. Initiating turn, awaiting your go, Checkmate-One."_

" _Targets locked. Missiles away!"_ Less than a second later the _Pegasus_ and the other five Pegasus-class ships let loose with theirs, a rippling wave of armor-piercing needles skimming the ocean surface at the speed of sound towards the back ranks of enemy ships. A couple of ship captains, alarmed at the sudden ringing tones of missile locks, began to turn their ships, their guns swiveling in their housing to face the incoming threat, but it was in vain. Before the first lances of fire could reach out and pluck any of the missiles out of the air, the first wave struck. Hulls warped and shrapnel flew as eight new fireballs blossomed in the rear of the enemy forces. The remaining vessels in that side of the canyon were thrown into disarray as the core of their assault force was gutted by the unexpected counterattack. That was when the second wave of missiles hit. The Najin captains could only howl in indignity as the second wave struck their half-turned ships and turned their upper decks into slag. With one side completely broken, Fredrick could only grip the handrails by the tac-map with white knuckles as the crews of the _Arleigh Burke_ and her frigates cheered and turned their attention to the other avenue of attack, the odds suddenly much more even. Instead of following the Checkmates and high-tailing it back to the fall-back point however, the missile boats and Cham-su-ris streamed into the canyon at top speed, avoiding the destroyers that had just gotten into range and speeding past the massive form of the _Arleigh Burke_ to smash into the other enemy force.

" _All ships, set your targets!"_

" _Locked on!"_

" _Bruisers, bruisers in the air!"_ The third and fourth missile waves lashed out, joined by the fire of the main fleet. The enemy fleet, already facing forward, let loose with defensive fire, carving holes in the wall of incoming missiles and halving their number. But there were thirty missiles launched, and it only took one to core the already damaged ships. The math just wasn't in favor of the remaining nine ships. It wasn't a one-sided slaughter, however. The remainder of the Komars, having regrouped outside of the canyon, poured through the center through the shallow waters like Fredrick feared. At the same time, the North Koreans and Russians responded to the charging US fleet in kind, their ships clearing the debris and surging forward, both sides closing in on each other firing everything like some cavalry charge out of the history books, albeit played out with naval ships and on a scale of kilometers. The final hurrah from both sides played out on the projector, which momentarily fizzled from the sheer volume of death flung around by both sides. Fredrick grimaced as blue dots fizzled out on the map, accompanied by their captains' brief, final bellows of defiance.

While everyone's attention was drawn to the carnage in the canyon, Fredrick felt his hand rest against his leg and begin that infernal tapping again. Tearing his eyes away from the carnage, Fredrick looked to the destroyers, proceeding steadily towards the canyon at their ponderous pace, and realized he had no counter to them. Time. That was all he had bought himself with that bone-headed desperate counter-attack. And now he was out of it, along with any tricks up his sleeve.

* * *

Admiral Kuznetsov CIC

South of Vladivostok

April 15th, 1992

1745

Fleet Admiral Gavriil Vasilevsky had no idea if stupidity could take on a physical form, but if it could, he was sure it'd manifest as the Korean People's Navy. Surrounded by rings of monitors and sensors embedded into the walls, Gavriil could only listen as yet another corvette went down, its captain bellowing at his crew to abandon ship before an explosion ripped through the compartment and silenced the call. Gavriil's hands balled into fists, a mental image of the North Korean 'Admiral' in charge of the attack painted in front of him, his forehead in dire need of a bullet. Alas, the fool had gone down with his ship when the Americans struck it and had left Gavriil to pick up the pieces, cursing the day he ever let the fanatical imps take control of his ships. But the KPN had wanted to prove itself in battle and the Kremlin was overjoyed at the prospect of their allies taking the lead, deploying an entire naval squadron to support them and even allowing the North Korean's Admiral to have operational control. Moments like these where "I told you so" wasn't enough were the reason why Gavriil had started going back to the gun range and smoking a pack a day.

The North Koreans had the element of surprise and outnumbered the American fleet four to one, yet somehow not only were the USS Enterprise and its escorts still floating, the KPN fleet was wiped to a man and most of the ships Gavriil had lent them were crippled or worse. Somehow, somehow the KPN had squandered all their advantages in a bullish headlong attack that could have been easily circumnavigated – the objective was the carrier, damn it, not the fleet thirty kilometers in front of it! That wasn't even the worst of it. In the background, his destroyer captains were still sputtering expletives, informing him that the North Koreans had actually engaged a miniaturized jamming field over their ships, preventing the destroyers and jets from informing the Najins and Tarantuls about the flanking maneuver. Knowing the North Koreans, it was less about blocking the Americans' communications than it was preventing their own forces from falling back, because that was a thing. If the North Koreans' pathetic excuse of an Admiral had exercised an ounce of—

Gavriil took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. Before another distress call could blare over the speakers Gavriil picked up the radio, ordering the ships to fall back and regroup. There was nothing he could do about the battle except compound the North Korean's mistakes if he chose to prolong it. Hearing the various captains acknowledge and trudge their way out of the battle zone, Gavriil glanced at the readouts of the ships leaving. The Sovremennys were still untouched and had enough missiles to carry out the next phase of the plan. That was the only thing that mattered. That and the two hundred and forty-odd souls he had sworn to protect who were sinking with their ships. A ping on the long-range sensors vindicated his decision as multiple radar stations informed him of the rapid approach of the Japanese. They were on the warpath, no less than twelve destroyers and two dozen combat ships steaming towards the USS Enterprise, a colossal snowball of steel that only grew with each American and South Korean patrol they came across. With the last of the Soviet ships in the region pulling out, the jamming effect would quickly dissipate. If the Japanese didn't know what was happening before they would know before long.

Sighting a lone North Korean vessel tagging along with the retreating convoy and hailing them, Gavriil's thoughts drifted to the state of their allies. If Gavriil had to be honest with himself, the KPN had always been a joke. That anyone expected anything from them other than spectacular failure was…a grave miscalculation, one that had already cost him hundreds of lives, and would no doubt claim hundreds more as the Japanese and Americans funneled more ships into the area. So many would die for so little gain—Gavriil shook his head, grabbing a marker and laying out a battle plan on the map in front of him. He was there when the Gang of Eight made the call, and their reasoning was sound. In a world increasingly hostile towards them, they needed allies, no matter how deplorable or inept.

It was regrettable that their first strike was not as complete as it should have been, but for all the loss, the main objective was fulfilled. The USS Enterprise was crippled, her strike capabilities nullified to the point of no consequence. So let the Americans celebrate their 'victory.' Let the Japanese ride in as heroes and revel in their status. For the entirety of the Eastern Fleet, meant to match the US Pacific Fleet in its heyday, would greet them. Even with the arrival of the Japanese, the Americans and South Koreans were still hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned. Hearing the third wave of silver swept-winged craft as they hit the _Admiral Kuzentsov_ 's launch ramp, Gavriil put down the utensil, the officers gathered taking note, and watched the display as five Su-27Ks climb up into the darkening sky to join the veritable halo of dots that orbited the fleet, their arched fuselages giving them the appearance of raptors in search of a target. Gavriil would happily give them one. As the various officers gathered nodded and gave their assent to the plan, the ship roared to life as word buzzed around the bridge and radio operators relayed orders. Already formations of fighters could be seen leaving the artificial nimbus in tight V-formations as they received new orders, grey dots trailing white exhaust rapidly disappearing into the horizon. Gavriil grimaced.

Their enemies were dead men walking. They just didn't know it yet.

* * *

As the last Soviet ship receded into the distance, so too did the jamming field the ships had been generating. XO Captain Zachery Douglas's distress call, stuck on a repeating loop, surged forth as the veil lifted and spread out like a wave. Radio and television shows were unexpectedly interrupted as Captain Douglas's panicked voice crackled to life. Close by, Admiral Sugimoto gritted his teeth and ordered his ships to maximum speed, damn the consequences. Below the sea, Jarred looked on in horror as the first reports of the attack blinked onscreen, his eyes widening as the list of casualties kept going on. Northward, Gavriil merely sighed, listening to the translator and dully realizing that there was no turning back after this. Far to the West, Admiral d'Escrienne looked at the shocked expression of the British Brigadier across from him and in that moment found himself in command of an additional carrier and several helicopter brigades. Tens of thousands of calls flew across the Pacific nations as distressed bystanders and governments wondered what the hell was going on. Across the ocean Admiral Winfield juggled a half dozen phones, the decidedly understaffed command center flooded with more blaring tones that it couldn't keep up with. And along the border, North Korean soldiers cheered, their unified chanting forming a deafening roar that rattled even the hardiest of soldiers.

* * *

USS Enterprise

Sea of Japan

April 15th, 1992

1747

"Soviet ships are disengaging, I repeat, the Soviet ships are disengaging."

"What? Why?" Fredrick's eyes darted to and fro across the map. There had to be a reason they were pulling back. Those ships had them! If the destroyers closed range, there was nothing to stop them. Fredrick balled his hands into fists, expecting reports any second now of a second submarine attack, Soviet reinforcements, a massive wave of missiles cresting over the horizon…

Zach coughed, startling Fredrick. "Sir, there's nothing on scope for over a hundred nautical miles. For good or ill, they have withdrawn."

"I see." Fredrick took a step back from the table, blankly staring at the display in front of him. Even when the last of the Soviet contacts left weapons range, there were no shouts of celebration, no excited clapping or jumping around; just silence. Even the captains and pilots still out in the battlefield didn't dare breathe, expecting something to go wrong. It felt like an eternity before Fredrick brought his lips to the mike. "All vessels, this is Rear-Admiral Harper, stand down. Fighters, resume flight patrols, refuel and rearm in staggered waves. Repair crews to their stations. Though we are still in Condition Red, we are allowing medical and support teams to travel between ships and lifting the communications blackout." Immediately a flood of medical and repair requests filled the bridge. Collapsing into the chair behind him, Fredrick let his shoulders slump. After only a single engagement, the battlegroup was made combat ineffective. To say they were mauled was an understatement. One destroyer sunk. The other so mangled it would probably have to be hauled to the scrapyards. Less than half their frigate escorts had made it and only two Cham-su-ri's had pulled through. The Pegasus lost a third of their number. But they did it. They had held the line. They had made the enemy bleed, bleed severely enough to actually withdraw. But as a result every single ship was sporting grievous wounds that would take weeks or even months at a dedicated dry dock to fix. And as for the Enterprise herself, the crown jewel of the US Navy? It was a ghost ship now. Ghost island, really, considering it failed to even do the ship part of its name. So much of the crew had been wasted in the opening strike, so much of everything.

Vic broke into his musings shouting, "Sirs! The jamming field is lifting! Requests coming from…everyone! US Forces Korea, Korean Department of Defense, the JMSDF, Jesus Zach, I don't know who _didn't_ pick up your message." Vic paused, absorbing the laundry list of names as they hollered at him. "Pacific Command on the line sir. Highest priority on the list. I'll forward it to the CI—oh, uh."

Fredrick sighed. "I'll take it here." Picking up the phone, Fredrick straightened. "Sir, we—"

" _This is Admiral Winfield. Rear Admiral Harper, give me a sitrep."_ Fredrick didn't miss a beat, rattling off the essentials: enemy composition, enemies killed, losses sustained, and the general outcome. Admiral Winfield just sat through it all in silence, only speaking when the last word left Fredrick's mouth. _"After this call, get in contact with the JMSDF. Their fleet should be showing up on your radar any minute now if they aren't already."_

Fredrick nodded his head, certain things clicking in his mind. "That would explain the Soviets' rapid departure. But sir, how did the Japanese come so—"

" _I took the liberty to contact them when we lost contact with you. Admiral Sugimoto was able to mobilize the JMSDF and was willing to strip Japan's defenses in favor of rushing three-fourths of Japan's fleet in after you."_ Before Fredrick could as so much make a peep, Winfield continued. _"But that's not all. I just got word that the French – along with the British – under the command of Admiral d'Escrienne are massing near Hong Kong and will be making best speed towards you."_

Under his breath, Fredrick muttered, "Talk about immediate assistance…"

" _I will be frank, and Sugimoto and d'Escrienne concur. Those reinforcements still won't be enough, especially if the Chinese get involved. The US Pacific Fleet is mobilizing, and as I'm speaking Third Fleet is making preparations to set out from Hawaii. I'm trying to scare up as many attack subs as I can, but seeing as how we don't know if this is a regional conflict or simply the prelude to something bigger it will be unlikely they will arrive before the Belleau Wood and Third Fleet."_

"Understood. What are my orders?"

" _Defend the USS Enterprise. But above all, defend South Korea. Everything else is secondary."_

Fredrick gulped. "Understood sir. Hold the line, but once the Third Fleet arrives, I relinquish command to the officer in charge."

" _No."_ Before Fredrick could say anything, Winfield said, _"Admiral Whitcomb was found this morning dead from a heart attack. As of right now, we're brevetting you to Admiral Whitcomb's previous position. You've had experience coordinating larger battlegroups and are the most experienced commander in the theater. So when the 3_ _rd_ _Fleet arrives, you'll be given command of the_ Theodore Roosevelt _and use her as your main command ship. As I understand it Nimitz-class carriers are a little bigger than what you're used to. Congratulations, Admiral Harper. Pacific Command out."_

Fredrick set the phone down gingerly before shaking his head. What a way to get promoted. He wasn't sure if he wanted to jump for joy or scream in terror, a rolling mass of emotions tumbling around in his gut. In the end, he settled for the middle path. "Well, shit."

Nearby, Zach saluted and the rest of the bridge stood at rapt attention. "Admiral, sir. What are our orders?"

Fredrick snapped his head up. "Friendlies are coming up South. Anyone who knows a shred of Japanese should report to the bridge and assume liaison duties between us and the Japanese. Get them on the same page as us. Have them take up position around us and give our crews time to perform emergency repairs. In the meantime, I want around-the-clock work on the flight elevator, as well as salvaging for any equipment we can use: pistols, jets, anything that we can conceivably throw at the Russians and North Koreans. We need to hold out for a week until international reinforcements and the Third Fleet arrive. Dismissed." As the bridge exploded into a flurry of activity and Fredrick collapsed into his chair, the errant medical corpsman from before appeared from nowhere and began a battery of tests that Fredrick barely registered. Zach remained by Fredrick's side while this happened.

When the medic gave Fredrick a thumb up and concluded that there was no concussion, warning him of some bruising and gently handing his superior an ice pack before leaving as quickly as he came, Zack asked, "Sir. Still feel like we started a war?"

Fredrick sighed and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and resting the back of his head on the ice before giving a dry laugh. "The Korean War never ended. The ceasefire is just…over."

* * *

Footnotes that failed to translate:

1 _Bely dom -_ The building that the Russian President legislates from. Before you ask, yes, it literally translates to _White House_.

2 CIC - Combat Information Center

3 AO/Operational Sphere - A case where I have no idea what the correct terminology is. A carrier's…airspace? Or naval analogue of it. Radius around the ship that they do not allow hostiles or other non-friendlies to enter.

4 Ivan, another name for the Russians, refers to Ivan Konev, the military commander who liberated Eastern Europe from the Axis powers in WW2.

5 Wargame weapon range stats will be used instead of real-life stats, because real life stats are scary long-range. For instance, in Wargame, the Mig-3M's missiles have a 12.6km range. IRL, it's 150-398km (depending on if it's linked to other aircraft that can lock onto the target outside the Mig-31M's range).

6 CIWS - Close-In-Weapons-System

7 ROKN - Republic of Korea Navy (South Korean Navy)

8 Hong Kong is controlled by the Brits? In our timeline, Hong Kong is under the control of the Chinese at this point. Couldn't fudge up a reason for the French to be anywhere near Asia, so I assumed _Pearl of the Orient_ happened in this timeline with a minor British victory, allowing Britain to retain Hong Kong without China losing much face.

I'm also going to need help on formatting this thing. FF doesn't like the way I normally separate scenes, and horizontal lines everywhere seems excessive.


End file.
